


Facing It Later

by ThisIsNotAQuill (orphan_account)



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, No Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 04:43:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16151834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ThisIsNotAQuill
Summary: It’s not difficult for Ren to slip on masks. One for the Metaverse, one for the adults... and then there was the one that shielded him from those he held dear.





	Facing It Later

Often at night, when sleep eluded him as he tossed and turned in sheets far too warm and suffocating, he pondered the meaning of home.

Closing his eyes, he could see a house smothered between two other buildings, elbowing one another for room. Streets baked by the hot sun, branches draping over stone walls from where they sat in the front lawn, and further down the path was an intersection leading to a shrine older than the little hut choked by vines down in the park.

Yongen-Jaya was _not_ home.

Backstreets, noisy people, cramped space... The environment practically screamed “city life” in his ears, a harmonic tune to his jumbled thoughts. If he listened hard enough, he could hear whatever was in the belly of the washers summersault at the laundromat across the street. He could hear people chatting idly as they exited or entered the bathhouse. He could hear voices of passerby’s.

It was the voices that argued and yelled that bothered him the most.

The scent of coffee and leftover traces of curry cling to the air. There’s the soft gurgling of the machine he forgot to turn off before his cat nap, and he’s just grateful Sojiro isn’t barging through the door today. Lined on the shelves are the coffee beans. Maybe if he looked close enough, he’d find a camera or microphone wedged between the jars and the walls.

The creaking of the cabinet doors is a whip against the quiet air. He fetches a cup and pot, the craving for coffee souring as his eyes catch on the milk in the fridge.

“You should eat something, you know.” Morgana hops on the counter, watching him with unreadable eyes. He feels frustration crawl in his throat. He _never_ had problems reading his friends.

Had the drugs screwed up his brain _that much_?

Ren doesn’t look at him. “Not hungry.”

Morgana sighs.

...The room suddenly feels _very_ small.

“How’re you feeling?”

 _Tired_ , his injuries say.

“Fine,” his mouth says. The stove flickers to life, and he settles the pot now filled with milk over lazy flames.

Another pause.

“Shouldn’t we visit Takemi? It’s been a while since you last went, and you should probably have your injuries...” the words fall clumsily from his mouth. “Lady Ann is quite talented, but she’s not a doctor.”

His fingers trace the gauze taped firmly to his cheek. Ren can see where Morgana’s concern lies, but he says nothing. Applying disinfectant and slapping a bandage on was mediocre treatment. That wasn’t to say he didn’t appreciate the time she took out of her day, risking running late for a modeling session that evening just to make sure Ren was taking care of himself. She had her ways of expressing anger, distaste for the corrupt people who had beaten and drugged him into unconsciousness. It was nothing compared to the roaring anger that spewed from Ryuji’s lips, but it had its own fire.

Makoto, Haru, and Futaba had expressed their own versions of shock and disgust. But since their last meeting at Leblanc, since he returned from the interrogation, he hadn’t seen any of them. Sojiro and Sae kept the doors open but had insisted on giving Ren much-needed space. In that moment, in the quiet of Leblanc that _should_ be bustling with what little customers it has, he wants nothing but the opposite.

He had pondered sending a text to the group chat but made little progress.

 **REN.** Should we meet up at the hideout today...?

[ **DELETED]**

 **REN.** I received a message from Mishima...

**[DELETED]**

**REN.** I need a favor—

**[DELETED]**

In the end, his friends had decided on visiting one by one. Out of all, he saw Futaba the most. She made no extraordinary attempts to lift his spirits, but Ren could tell she was _trying_ whenever she’d throw a remote in his lap. Because she had this game that had been collecting dust under papers detailing cognitive psience in her room, and she’d be damned if she was going to attempt Lunatic mode alone without her Key Item.

Futaba understood him in her own way. She did not pry, she did not threaten to dig up reputation-ruining details on the cops that abused him, and she didn’t scream her anger to the heavens at the unfairness of it all. But she was there for him. She knew when he needed to be alone. She knew when Ren needed rest before he knew it himself. She knew when to tell Sojiro to close early. She knew, she knew, she knew...

There were times he could see the questions dancing on her lips, swimming in her eyes. But the words were never what she ( _they)_ wanted to say.

Haru and Makoto reached out through text messages. Once Makoto mentioned that her older sister was looking into the people responsible for the interrogation.

He should have been grateful. He shouldn’t have been hesitant to show a more vulnerable side.

 **REN.** Don’t bother.  
There’s nothing she can do about it.

He doesn’t remember the response. If he looked through his messages, maybe he’d find it. Or maybe he threw it into the recycling bin out of spite.

Ren wasn’t a child. He didn’t need to be treated like some kid who needed reassurance from his senpai that the teachers were looking into some test-cheating scandal he had unwittingly been drawn into. He _knows_ Makoto was trying to help, and with her connections, maybe they could have done something about it.

But no, it wasn’t worth it.

They hatched a plan, he volunteered, and he was _fine._

This was all part of it anyway, a section of the Terms and Agreements he blindly agreed to that bit him in the ass as soon as his back turned.

“Ren?” a rumbling noise as Morgana clears his throats.

( _Could cats clear their throats?_ )

“I think it’s ready...”

The milk snarls loudly, and he switches the stove off with a flick of the wrist. Now that his gaze shuffles from the pot to the cup, it would’ve been easier if he heated it in a kettle instead.

It would’ve been easier to ignore the damage the police had put on his body, but the thoughts refuse to be chased out of him. All he can think of is the sole of their shoes that thundered against his side, his stomach, his arms, his face—

Heat surges through his fingertips as they graze the ceramic surface. The steam stretches upwards, fogging his glasses.

“Hey.”

The cup taps against the countertop. “Hm?”

“Talk to me.”

Ren’s shoulders lift in a shrug. “There’s not much to say.”

“While it’s true there haven’t been any Mementos requests to fill, there’s still things we should be planning. I’m not trying to rush you into our next objective, but...”

“No,” he takes a seat at the bar, leaning forward on folded arms. “You’re right: we should be focused on what to do next. The others are pulling their weight, and I need to do the same. Even if I’m holed up in here.”

Morgana lets out an exaggerated groan. “That’s not what I _mean_! You haven’t said a word about the interrogation. I’m still capable of listening even if I haven’t returned to my human form!”

 _You listen better than most humans_ , the timing is ill, so he stores these words for later. For a time where they could all sit and laugh together like they could before the incident.

The sharp knocking on the door breaks their concentration. Alarm rings through him as he stands a bit faster than his body would like. At the very least, it didn’t hurt to walk as much as it used to. It’s not too difficult to make out the person on the other side. They should know the door wouldn’t be locked for someone like them, but Ren supposes it’s just a matter of courtesy to knock instead of testing the knob. The shafts of light that trickle through the window bend as he pulls it open.

It’s not difficult to slip on masks. One for the Metaverse, one for the adults. And then there was the one that guarded him from family and friends alike. He found himself frequenting this one quite a bit.

But masks didn’t always work for the people with perceptive eyes.

“Apologies,” Yusuke says. His winter uniform triggers memories of their first meeting. The day he leapt out of the vehicle just to chase down Ann, when he gave both Ren and Ryuji the cold shoulder, when his strings were tugged by the very monster that took any form of art and tagged his name to the plaque.

( _Yusuke disliked him too, at one point.)_

“I’ve only realized now it’s gone, but I can’t seem to find my sketchpad at the dorms. So I thought perhaps I left it here,” a pause. “If this is a bad time, I can come back at a later day.”

Ren shakes his head. He realizes he never flipped the sign to ‘Closed’. “No, it’s fine. It’s probably upstairs," his feet slide back, allowing Yusuke entrance. “I can help you look for it.”

There’s a moment where neither move, and Ren finds it difficult to look him in the eye. He feels Yusuke’s attention narrow in on the bandaging plastered to his face, the stubborn bruise above his eyebrow that refuses to simmer into _any_ color aside from the angry red its grown fond of. He must think it shameful to be saddled with such a leader in this disgusting shape, someone tainted by the ugliness of people.

Someone who quested for the beauty in everything would surely be appalled by the sight in front of him.

“Thank you,” he says, walking past so Ren can close the door. “I appreciate it.”

He makes sure to flip the sign. “Sure.”

“Hey, Yusuke,” Morgana says from one of the booth seats. When did he get there?

Yusuke acknowledges him with a nod before turning his head to the abandoned pot and cup. “Were you making something?”

“Not coffee,” Ren chips in, making his way to the stairs. “There’s some left if you want the rest of it. I’m not thirsty.”

Morgana scoffs, “You barely took a sip—”

“ _Anyway_ , let’s see if we can find your sketchbook,” he doesn’t wait for the answer, mounting the stairs quietly. It’s almost hypocritical to want attention from his friends, and now that he has it from one of them, he just wants to be alone...

No...

It’s not _just_ one of his friends. It’s _Yusuke_.

He could deal with Ryuji, he could listen to Ann as she bandaged him up, he could play games with Futaba, he could focus on studies with Makoto, and he could talk with Haru about her desire to run her own café, but he’s not sure what to do with Yusuke. The familiar frustration from earlier, from his inability to read Morgana, trickles down his spine. Because this is just _Yusuke_ , and he’s probably been to more places with him than he has anyone else.

Yusuke was observant. He could pick out every chink in the armor if he knew someone well enough – and even if he _didn’t_. Makoto would at least know to bring them to light. She wouldn’t remain quiet about someone’s weakness. But Yusuke? For as close as they were, sometimes it was hard to tell what he was thinking.

 _You know..._ , he flips through the mix of textbooks and infiltration tools littering his desk in search of the damn sketchbook. _You know enough to betray me too, Yusuke._

“I’m not seeing it,” Ren utters, pushing aside the flap of cloth hanging from the top shelf of the desk. Nothing. He can’t think of anywhere else Yusuke could have misplaced it. All they used was the table for meetings – nothing else was moved. He falls back on his bed, and it’s really tempting to return to abandoned sleep. “There wasn’t anything important in there, right?”

Yusuke takes a seat on the recliner. “Of course there was. I’ve put much of my time into the drawings in that sketchbook. It’s not something that can be misplaced.”

 _Sorry_ , he wants to say. He doesn’t. Ren doesn’t need to look, but he knows Yusuke is watching him with guarded eyes. _What was his problem?_ He’s starting to believe Yusuke came all the way here to just _judge_ him rather than look for the damn drawings. Why? And why can’t he just _say something_ instead of pinning him down in equally smoldering silence?

He’s beginning to wish Morgana followed them instead of hiding downstairs for… whatever reason.

Unyielding eyes, demanding an answer

( _“Give it up—!!”_  
“Who else was working with you?”  
“—you want another shot!?”)

but to what? There were so many questions that needed answers. Which one was he supposed to answer? _How_ was he supposed to answer, if he wouldn’t—

“Tell me what you want.” the words slip out harsher than intended, astonishment flickering in the light of Yusuke’s eyes. “Just... stop staring at me.”

He blinks. “I... I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable—”

“You are,” he sits. Stop, stop, _stop_. “If there’s something you want to say to me, say it.”

Yusuke’s eyebrows draw together in a frown. Ren can’t tell if he’s hit a nerve, if he’s concentrating, or _what_? Why can’t he read his friends anymore? What’s wrong with _him_? “Very well,” he says firmly. “I’m thinking of everything that’s happened. I know I speak for the rest of our team when I say I’m simply worried for you. Although we had everything planned out, there were still some things we hadn’t anticipated.”

Ren suddenly finds the television the most interesting thing in the room. “Not a whole lot we can do about it now. Why waste time worrying?”

“Because it’s not just the interrogation you’re struggling with.”

“What’re you—”

“—Akechi Goro.”

The words numb his tongue. His heart lodges itself in his throat. No. Yusuke was wrong. They _knew_ not to trust Akechi – Ren had been the _first_ to bring attention to Akechi’s suspicious behavior. He didn’t care about Akechi, he was a traitor like the rest of them. He was the reason so many people had suffered. He was playing them from the start. He cared more about his public image.

“Betrayal is not something I’m unfamiliar with; I doubt it wouldn’t be the same for you. Although he betrayed all of us, I can see why it may have affected you the most.”

He knows Yusuke is poking at a chink in his armor. His hand curls into a fist atop the blankets. “I’m too tired for this right now,” he quips.

A beat of silence. Ren’s mind grasps for something – _anything_ – to say.

“Would you prefer I leave?”

The offer should appeal to him. The idea of Akechi being the catalyst for falling further into some abysmal pit is _draining_. But he wonders, briefly, if there is truth in Yusuke’s words. The whole time, everyone has focused on the interrogators, the abuse, making sure he was okay. Yusuke did this, but he had used different methods. And the more he thought about it, the more he realizes how very little he’s talked with Yusuke compared to the rest of them. Not that Yusuke went out of his way to contact Ren either.

A part of him wonders if he’d been avoiding him, reluctant to send text messages for this very reason.

“No,” he finally says. “I meant it when I said I was tired. I guess... I didn’t think of Akechi, but maybe you have a point.” he swallows. He _really_ doesn’t want to think about Akechi right now. Not yet. “It’s just been a while since I’ve talked with any of you.”

Yusuke objects, “I beg to differ. You see Morgana every day, Ann has been over as well as Ryuji—”

“That’s not what I meant,” he runs a hand through his hair. “I mean _really_ talked with you. It’s nice.”

Right. Everyone seemed to walk on eggshells whenever they talked with him. It was as if, suddenly, they didn’t _know_ what to say to him, afraid he'd break at the wrong questions. He could tell they were all worried about their next target as well as the steady decline of their reputation as Phantom Thieves. And after everything, he doesn’t want to think about them. Not yet. Ren struggled to admit this to himself never mind his friends.

But maybe he could start to open about this, and Yusuke wasn’t necessarily a _bad_ person to start with. Morgana too.

A low grumbling noise ripples through the quiet, and Ren regards Yusuke with a raised eyebrow. “Sorry, I haven’t eaten since... well, you probably know the answer already.”

It’s hard not to smile at that. _Just a little._ “I can see if there are any ingredients left for curry.”

“Allow me to make some,” Yusuke offers. “You said yourself that you were tired, yes?”

...Hmm. “Do you know how to cook it?”

Yusuke shrugs, so he takes it as a ‘no’. But he _is_ tired and having a friend over for longer than 30 minutes sounded nice. He doesn’t want to think about the interrogation or anything else. Just for today, he wants to spend time with a friend and not think of the problems that have been plaguing him since his return to Leblanc.

Besides, there was always time to mull things over like this the next day.

When they return downstairs, Yusuke doesn’t mention Akechi nor does he bring up the possibility of him to Morgana. Instead, he helps Ren set up the stove for cooking, and Ren tries not to let the thoughts bother him. He’s not sure why, but he finds himself oddly grateful for Yusuke’s perceptiveness. There were details he failed to pick up on, and Yusuke read him so easily. The earlier frustration returns in a mellower intensity. Perhaps he just needed someone to not beat around the bush, poke at him until he spat out the same answer again and again.

“Ren, can you help before Yusuke burns the pan?”

“How rude...”

It’s odd, but as he goes to help Yusuke and Morgana, he almost feels _relaxed_ for the first time in weeks. It’s certainly been too long.


End file.
